The Darkness Under The Bed
by Tiruneko
Summary: He heard his mother scream around one in the morning and his father shout at ten after. The song began at two am, but he hasn't heard his parents voices since. He wants his mommy. He wants her bad. He doesn't think she's coming. He's probably right.


One

"Canary, canary, sing me a song…" The footsteps echo throughout the big grand house. The little boy shivers even though it's June. He pulls the grey comforter up over his head, clenching his eyes closed to ward off the tears. The voice carries and floats down the halls that have now become eerily empty. It's a nice little song. The boy thinks he would have liked it if not for the circumstances. "Canary, canary, please sing a long…"

He tries not to cry. He tries very, very hard, but it's not really working. He heard his mother scream around one in the morning and his father shout at ten after. The song began at two am, but he hasn't heard their voices since. The voice that sings is something deep and graining, it's haunting and makes him want to shiver. The air smells metallic and something red started oozing under his door a while ago so he crawled under the blankets because it felt safer there.

Then the doors started to fly open with a loud bang, as if someone was bashing them open. "Canary, canary, fly by my head…" The little boy cringes, balling up his small hands by his face and curling into himself. He wants his mother. The bathroom door down the hall crashes open as if it was ripped off the hinges. Suddenly panicked, the little blonde boy launches himself off of the bed and crawls under it. He bites his fist to keep from whimpering in fear.

He shivers again as the voice begins to hum an upbeat yet somehow melancholy tune. Another door crashes open. It is the one next to his. His mommy always leaves the door cracked, just in case the big and shadowy room scares him at night. It always does. He was doing well tonight until mommy's voice woke him up.

His door moves open quietly. Two bare feet appear in the doorway, splattered with red. The boy shudders but keeps quiet. Then the voice starts again. It's loud now and clear. The feet he sees belong to the owner of the song.

"Canary, canary, under the bed… Won't you sing me a song?"

The feet bend down turning into a figure. A head peeks under his bed and the boy yelps in surprise. Two red eyes brighten with a smile and a cold hand grabs his ankle.

"Won't you please sing me a song?"

* * *

><p>Two hands grip his ankle and pull him out from under the bed. The boy cries out, kicking with all of his strength into the leg of the one pulling him. He scrambles desperately back under the bed as the figure crashes to the ground, cursing him wildly.<p>

"He kicked me! Little shit! Mrs. Kasane! Mrs. Kasane! Oliver won't come out from under the bed! And he attacked me!"

"Coming!" A much kinder and female voice calls distantly. The boys chatter as Oliver grips the springs of the bed. He holds still and silent. There are distant footsteps that grow and then the door opens. "Alright, alright, out with all of you," the woman's voice says, slightly annoyed.

"He kicked me, Mrs. Kasane! It'll probably bruise!" One of the boys complains.

"Oh hush, now get to school, all of you!" She chides, watching bemused as the boys slowly sulk from the room. Oliver watches their feet silently. He stares at Mrs. Kasane's flats. She stands quietly after they've gone. "Oliver?" She tries. No answer. "Come out now, alright?" There's a pause. She sits down on the bed and the mattress above him bends a little. "I'll talk to them later. I thought I told them..." she sighs. "I'm sorry, Oliver. It's just been hard after... but... you know that," she trails off sadly, quietly.

Teto Kasane is a very nice woman. Four years ago her and her husband began taking in foster boys out of the kindness of their hearts. The two had always wanted children but were unable to have them. Mr. Kasane was a fantastic man. He would take the young boys for ice creams on lazy Saturday afternoons and play baseball with the older ones. He'd take the more reclusive of the boys to the library and let them borrow his bikes so they could go on their own. He was always happy and always kind. He died about a year ago in a freak car accident. He had been walking home with Oliver from the post office. "Always look both ways, Oliver," he had said, "because you never know what life's gonna' throw at you," and then he was hit by a black van and died when his head went crashing through the windshield.

He felt bad about that one. Oliver liked Mr. Kasane.

Teto is still grieving. She loved him very much. "So, what do you say I take you into school late today and you help me make pancakes?" Help her make pancakes? Who's she kidding? Everyone knows the widow Kasane cannot cook, that was her husband's job. Now it's Oliver's. When Teto cooks lunches for the boys they don't eat them. Oliver won't tell her that though. No point in hurting her feelings. Oliver doesn't say anything. "No? How about I don't take you in at all then and we just rustle up some old movies and have a _you _day. How's that sound?" He can hear the smile in her voice.

_Bad, _he wants to say. _It sounds very bad, _but he doesn't.

Oliver isn't unreasonable, and he really does want to please her. So he compromises and with shaky legs crawls out from under the bed. Teto smiles at his pale face. He has deep purple bags under his eyes from insomnia and unruly blonde hair he's always tugging at when he's nervous. One of his eyes is entirely hidden by a permanent white bandage and the other is a strange amber color.

He's still in his pajamas.

"Great. Good," Teto says more to herself than him. "Get dressed and I'll see you downstairs?" Oliver shrugs. "Good, good." Teto hurries out of the room. Oliver stands on the cold linoleum floor and yawns. Adrenaline still courses through his body. Under the bed is the only place he feels safe.

There are five other beds in the room, but the one on the right end is his. The top is a mess of sheets, blankets, comforters and many, many pillows. Atop it are books and notebooks and markers and pens and clothes while all the other beds are immaculately made. Teto lets him do mostly whatever he wants. It's good that way. There are less obstacles that way.

Oliver digs through the pile of clothes on his bed before pulling out a relatively clean pear of jeans and a brown hoodie. He doesn't want to change out of his blue satin pajama top, it's comfortable. He takes the small comforts he can get. Oliver tugs on the jeans and pulls the hoodie on, zipping it all the way up so that Mrs. Kasane doesn't see that he didn't really get dressed. Oliver is incredibly short. He's fifteen, going on sixteen, but his stature is that of a thirteen year old boy. He used to hate his height but now there are other things to worry about besides that. There are other, more pressing physical ailments rather than his height, like the fact that he doesn't have a right eye.

Putting on a pair of thin grey socks with blackened bottoms from overuse, he trudges warily down the stairs. At the bottom, Teto is standing in the kitchen, frowning. Oliver gives her a look. "We don't have eggs," she says. "We don't have eggs to make pancakes. I don't think we have enough flower either."

Oliver shrugs. Teto stares at him pitifully. "Oh, no, I don't want you to have to go get it all-" Oliver shrugs again. "Are you sure?" He walks over to the kitchen counter and leans across it, pressing his forehead against the cool granite surface and slouching across it. He's tired. He's always tired. "Alright," Teto relents. "I'll go get some money."She comes back a few minutes later with a pink change purse full of bills and coins and a pair of Oliver's white sneakers. In her other hand is a house key because Oliver is always forgetting his.

As he laces up his shoes she frantically warns him of things. "Don't talk to strangers, don't run off, be back soon and for the love of God-"

"Look both ways before I cross the street," he finishes for her.

"Yes," Teto sighs. "Look both ways before you cross the street." There's a brief flash of grief that crosses her features before she hurries him out of the house.

The air is chilly for October, Oliver notes as he fixes white headphones over his ears. He doesn't play music. He never plays music. He just listens to his thoughts and blocks out the world. The grocery store isn't too far away, it's a small town so everything is old and clumped together.

Everyone knows everyone except for him because Oliver rarely goes out anywhere. He only goes when Teto asks him too and she only asks when she thinks it'll be good for him. They've both had trauma and she understands him well enough. No one understands, but she tries. It's nice, so he appeases her so the niceness on her part won't end. People aren't nice unless they get something out of it. If all she wants is the companionship of the boy who watched her husband die, and his cooking skills, then fine. He can appease her.

Oliver is so completely wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice when another boy crosses the street. He doesn't notice when said boy crashes into him. Spilling back over the sidewalk, Oliver scrapes his elbows over the jagged cement. With a wince he collects his headphones and looks up at the person that crashed into him.

A girl about his age (but taller) with long and light pink hair cascading down her back is standing over him. She's wearing a maroon colored jacket and black jeans. "Oh, wow, sorry," the girl apologizes quickly. "I thought you were going to turn but I guess not." She extends a hand. The girl's eyes are the sharpest color of blue Oliver has ever seen. They're like ice with streaks of light grey swirled in. It's... fascinating, almost artificial looking. Oliver doesn't take her hand and gets to his feet. "Your elbows okay?" The girl asks.

Oliver rolls up his sleeve to look. He shrugs. They're scraped but only the left one is bleeding.

"Sorry," The girl winces at the sight. "Do you want me to pick you up a thing of bandages and a little disinfectant? It's the least I can do and there's a drug store right over there..."

"'S fine," Oliver says, picking up his now broken headphones. He picks at the shattered plastic.

"Oh man I broke those, didn't I?" The girl says, dragging a hand through her light pink hair. "At least let me buy you new headphones," she says. Oliver shrugs because he knows the girl most likely won't let it drop until she feels like she's atoned for crashing into him, even though it was Oliver's fault in the first place. "Cool," the girl smiles. "I'm Luka."

"Oliver," he says.

The two start walking towards the drug store. Luka's humming something under her breath to fill the awkward silence, Oliver notices. He's not one for speaking but clearly Luka is. The tune sounds vaguely familiar.

"What are you humming?" He asks to be polite.

"Oh, just some old nursery rhyme. I kinda' like it though."

"Which one is it?"

"You probably won't know it but it goes like this, _Canary, canary, sing me a song," _before the girl can sing another word, Oliver blanches. And then, turning on a heel, he runs without looking, panic flooding his blood. He runs straight into the road.

_"Always look both ways, Oliver," _echoes in his head but is quickly drowned out by the blaring of a car horn as it comes speeding into his side and then everything goes black.


End file.
